


let's dance (like we're makin' love)

by a_splash_of_stucky



Series: MCU Kink Bingo: Round 2 [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Clubbing, Dancing, Dancing as Foreplay, Dom/sub Undertones, Flirty Bucky Barnes, Grinding, M/M, Making Out, Modern Bucky Barnes, Natasha is a good friend, Possessive Steve Rogers, Shrunkyclunks, Teasing, mild Dom/Sub, mood music
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-05-31 10:36:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15117593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_splash_of_stucky/pseuds/a_splash_of_stucky
Summary: Dance like he’s the only person left on this planet, like this show is just for him.aka Bucky Barnes is a lil’ minx when he’s dancing in the club. Steve suffers accordingly.





	let's dance (like we're makin' love)

**Author's Note:**

> It's the 1st of July, which marks the start of my 'Steve's 100th Birthday Celebration'!
> 
> I strongly recommend you listen to ['Intention' by Kiiara](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=snZtuWcazfw/). It’s what I had on in the background whilst I wrote this and tbh, it’s the song that inspired the whole fic. To me, it’s a song that’s sensual, without being overtly sexy, ya feel?
> 
> Side note: I tried out a new writing style and I’m kinda liking it? Second person POV but in Bucky’s perspective and it kinda works??? Lmk what you think. 
> 
> Fic title from 'Dance Like We're Making Love' by Ciara

Let the bass reverberate through your bones, feel the energy thrumming inside you. Let the rhythm sweep you away, carrying you in its relentless current -- let it direct your movements. Do what comes naturally; bite your lip, tip your head back, bare your neck. 

 

Lower your lids until your eyes are narrow slits, scan the crowd through your lashes. 

 

Find him. 

 

You feel Steve before you see him. His presence is palpable; if you reached out, you would probably feel it running through your fingers. His eyes on you are a tangible weight. You catch sight of him in the corner of your eyes, his body painted in hues of blue and pink under the strobing lights. 

 

Steve’s watching you. 

 

Though he’s on the other side of the room, though there is a sea of writhing bodies separating you from him, his eyes are solely focused on you. 

 

Steve is leaning against the railing, one elbow braced on the metal, a drink in his free hand. Fuck, he looks so damn good. The part of you that is constantly aching for his touch wants to push him against a wall so that you can suck him off. He’s all dark and broody and mysterious, with his distressed jeans and that thick beard. His tight white t-shirt, paired with that _fucking_ leather jacket makes him look like every wet dream you’ve ever had come to life. 

 

Behind him, in a private booth, is the rest of the team, laughing and joking and having a merry time at their table, surrounded by bottles of expensive liquor. Alcohol does nothing for Steve, but watching you dance? With your see-through black t-shirt and skin-tight jeans, your hair in a messy bun and skin glistening with sweat?

 

That riles Steve up like nothing else. 

 

The lights flicker. Sunset colours, bright splashes of red and orange and yellow illuminate the walls and the crowd on the dancefloor. His golden hair doesn’t look so golden anymore – it glows ethereally. He’s a good-boy-turned-bad and you want him to ravish you. 

 

Natasha comes up behind you and playfully wraps her arms around your waist. Something in him changes; his shoulders stiffen, his jaw tightens, he clutches his drink a little tighter. 

 

This music makes you bold. 

 

You’ve had one drink so far. Whilst the alcohol pumping through your veins has given you liquid courage, it only goes so far in lowering your inhibitions; the music is doing the rest.

 

This music is hypnotic.

 

Your focus dwindles down to three things: you, your desire and Steve. You’re dimly aware of Natasha’s body plastered to your back, but she might as well be white noise in the back of your head.

 

This music is burning you up from the inside, like sparks setting kindling aflame. 

 

You want to kiss Steve until you forget that you need oxygen to breathe, want to ride him until you know nothing but pleasure. 

 

Hide your smirk. Tease him. Lean your body into Natasha’s, tilt your head back, flash him a coy smile. Watch how his eyes darken further, watch how his fingers grip the steel railing hard enough to dent it. Steve brings his drink to his lips, the glass half-empty. He knocks the rest of it back, then sets the glass down on the table behind him. His tongue darts out to lick his lips – you want that tongue on you, tracing whorls and patterns on your skin, lapping up the sweat lingering in the hollow of your throat. 

 

Give him a show. 

 

The song chances to something slower, more sensual, more seductive; a steady beat that is just the right tempo for you to sway to. 

 

You play it up, dancing like he’s the only person left on this planet, like this show is just for him. There could be over a hundred people in this room, over a hundred sets of eyes, but right now, he’s the only you care about. 

 

You bare your neck, lifting your hands to run your fingers through your hair, loosening your bun. Your lips part on a soft exhale. Even from this distance, you swear you can see his pupils widening further; if you were close enough, you’d see that the blue of his irises have been reduced to thin, barely-there rings surrounding a chasm of black. 

 

Natasha dances with you, her chest never once leaving your back, her hands roaming over your sides. Small, nimble fingers ruck up your t-shirt, teasing along the hem of your black jeans. She means nothing by this; she’s completely sober and aware of all of her actions. This is just…how you are with her, how she is with you. A friendship that constantly toes the line between flirtatious and playful, sexual and sweet. She’s your sister, your best friend, your confidante, your not-quite lover.

 

You know her actions mean nothing. _Steve_ knows her actions mean nothing, but nonetheless, his expression is dark and calculating, like he wants to break her wrists. 

 

“He’s watching you,” Natasha says loudly, her lips by the shell of your ear so that you can hear her over the booming bass.

 

Yes. He’s enraptured by you. 

 

You don’t answer her. You don’t need to answer her; she knows what you’re up to. 

 

Steve’s been away on a mission for too long. The apartment gets lonely without him. You want him. You need him. You need to be _his_. 

 

What better way to get what you want than to ask for it? True, this is not asking for it in the verbal sense, but Steve’s learnt to read the tells in your body, knows what it means when you’re dancing like this. 

 

The beat drops. 

 

Move with it.

 

Roll your body in a sinuous wave, one that starts at your shoulders and moves through your torso. Get your hips involved. Grind yourself against Natasha, run your palms over your chest – imagine they’re Steve’s hands, imagine what he’d do to you. Watch how his nostrils flare, how his body tenses, how the cotton of his t-shirt strains ever-more against that muscular torso. He needs to have mercy on his shirts, you think giddily. He needs to wear ones that don’t threaten to come apart at the seam each time he flexes. 

 

But then again, you wouldn’t be getting all this eye candy if he stopped wearing his smedium shirts.

 

Steve’s moving now, stalking past occupied booths like a predator on the prowl, hunting for a better vantage point to eye its prey. His hand is trailing across the railing beside him. 

 

Your eyes track him, watching how his muscles bunch and flex underneath his clothes. He exudes danger and purpose. You wish you could see those muscles up close, undulating for completely different reasons. 

 

The music climbs. The notes are soaring higher and higher, lifting you with them. 

 

You turn around, throwing your arms around Natasha’s neck. She grins. Her hands are on your waist, hugging you close; your bodies are rolling against each other like two colliding waves. The scarlet hair framing her face is matted with sweat and there’s a bright, impish sparkle to her eyes. 

 

In your peripheral vision, you catch sight of him again. He’s watching you, waiting to see what you do next. 

 

Kiss her, card your fingers through her hair and rub your fingertips against her scalp. Kiss her, run your tongue over the seam of her lips and revel in the way she gasps softly. Kiss her, giggle as her nails dig into your sides. 

 

Kiss her, then pull away, bat your lashes as she smiles seductively. Don’t let go of her hand, follow her lead as she gyrates her hips against you. Lean back, let her take some of your weight using the arm she’s wrapped around your waist. Scan the room again, find Steve. Smirk when you see him hunched over, both elbows on the railing, fingers clasped together, watching you like a hawk. 

 

You know that look. You know what it means when the corners of his mouth are slightly upturned, when his jaw is set like that.

 

You’ll get it good tonight. 

 

But good isn’t good enough. You want _fantastic_. You want to be screaming, you want your mind to be blown, for the entire city to know that your lover is home. 

 

Turn up the heat, turn up the heat. 

 

Lean in close, run your lips over the corner of Nat’s jaw, on the side of her face that’s in his line of sight. Raise your voice to be heard over the booming music. “Feel me up!” you shout. 

 

“Barnes, are you out of your mind?” she shouts back, “D’you want him to kill me?”

 

Don’t answer, just catch her wrist and squeeze it encouragingly. She’ll get the message. 

 

Natasha shakes her head, though there’s no resistance in her body when you tug her closer. She’s your best friend, she’ll do anything you say. Your lips find hers as dainty hands with nimble fingers slip underneath your top, tracing the skin of your belly. It’s hot and stuffy on the dancefloor, but you shiver, nonetheless. Catch her bottom lip between your teeth, laugh at her small growl. She gets the message, fingers digging into the muscles of your back, her nails leaving red welts in their wake. You huff out a quiet moan, letting your head roll back so that she can mouth along your neck. 

 

It's raunchy, it’s sexy and it’s had its intended effect. 

 

Steve’s gone. 

 

You put your hand on her shoulders and push her back. “I think I should go find him!”

 

She laughs brightly, nodding in agreement. 

 

“I’ll go back with Wanda, have fun!” she calls, squeezing your hand one last time. 

 

You slip through the throng, expertly weaving through the mass of dancing bodies, trying to find Steve. You’re half-hard in your pants, dick trapped in your tight jeans. 

 

Once you’ve wriggled free of the crowd, you pause, unsure of where to go. The bathroom is probably a good start -- maybe he’s waiting for you there. Just as you’re about to head in that direction, two massive hands clamp down on you, one on the back of your neck, the other on your left forearm. 

 

A flutter of panic rises in your chest, but as you’re forcibly steered towards the exit, you relax. You recognise the odd calluses on his palms from wielding the shield and the familiar rhythm of his breathing. 

 

When you get outside, Steve drags you into the alleyway behind the club and crowds you up against the wall, his bulk taking up the entirety of your vision, blocking out the streetlights. He cages you in, forearms on either side of your head, legs on the outsides of yours. There’s not much of a height difference between you two, but in moments like these, the sheer magnitude of his presence is still able to make you feel small. His scent assaults your nostrils – musky sweat, the sour tang of whiskey and beneath all that, the fresh wood-pine of his aftershave. 

 

Thick fingers grip your chin, tipping your head back. Before you can suck in a breath, his lips slam into yours, hard and unforgiving; possessive, _claiming_. You submit to him, your lips parting under his with no resistance, his tongue easily dominating yours. Your muscles tremble. Were it not for Steve’s body pressing you into the wall, you’d probably be a puddle on the ground, by this point. 

 

One of Steve’s hands fists in your hair, his fingers tangling with your brown strands. He uses his grip to yank your head back, curving your neck at an almost painful angle. You moan into the kiss, the sharp sting of pain travelling right to your dick. 

 

The vibrations from the bass and the melody of the music spill into the night air. There’s something sinfully dirty about the beat; it’s slow and yet all-encompassing. It makes you want to grind against his thigh, or maybe wrap your legs around his waist as he bounces you on his cock. 

 

Steve’s growling, you realise. A low, animalistic sound rumbling up from the back of his throat. There’s a frenzied undertone to his kiss, an insatiable need that threatens to shatter his composed exterior. 

 

You can do little else besides accept what he dishes out to you. Your fingers are fisted in the front of his t-shirt, but you can’t pull him any closer -- he’s just not letting you. Steve’s mouth pulls off yours as he starts sucking noisy kisses along your jaw and down your neck, pressing in tight so that his beard scratches your skin. 

 

“Steve,” you moan breathlessly, when his lips latch onto that sensitive spot on the side of your neck. 

 

“ _Steve_ ,” you gasp, when he pulls your collar to the side so that he can suck a dark bruise onto your skin. 

 

“ _Oh_ —Steve,” you whimper, when he slots his thigh between your legs, pinning your rock-hard dick against the muscle. You want to hump him like some sex-crazed animal. 

 

“Quiet,” Steve hisses, tugging sharply on your hair. He pulls away, leaning back far enough that his lips are out of reach, no matter how hard you crane your neck. This close, you can see the darkness in his eyes, the feral gleam in his gaze as it rakes over you. His hair is dishevelled, and his lips are kiss-bitten and swollen. 

 

“What the _fuck_ was that, little boy?” he growls. Your heart skips a beat. 

 

“Did you think I’d like that?” Steve asks, voice hoarse and raspy. “Did’ja think I’d like to watch someone _else_ put their hands on you? To watch someone else touch what’s mine?”

 

At the last word, Steve leans forward, nipping your earlobe sharply. There’s a dangerous, demanding edge to Steve’s voice, one that’s making arousal pool in your gut. 

 

“Is this what you wanted, Bucky?” Steve continues, his darkened voice taking on a teasing quality. You gasp when Steve pins you to the wall with his pelvis. When he thrusts his hips forward, you realise that he’s hard, his erection straining against his jeans. 

 

“You did this to me, little boy,” Steve says – purrs, really. His mouth is against your ear, the hairs of his beard scratching the side of your neck. “ _You_ got me all hot and bothered, little boy. Is this what you wanted?”

 

You whimper when Steve’s thigh brushes up against your trapped cock. 

 

“Answer me, Bucky,” Steve says meanly, tightening his grip in your hair momentarily. 

 

“Yes,” you reply immediately, eyes fluttering shut. 

 

“Y-yes, Steve—I, I wanted—,” you pause, taking a moment to gather your thoughts. “I need you, Steve. Please, I’ve missed you, I need you so bad.”

 

“Oh, Bucky,” Steve croons, his voice softening immediately, ducking down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. “I know, baby boy, you’ve been so good waitin’ for me, haven’t you?”

 

You bite your lip and nod your head mutely. 

 

“Yeah, you have,” Steve agrees, stroking his finger over your cheek. “You’ve been so good for me, Bucky. It’s okay now, I got you. I’ll take care of you.”

**Author's Note:**

> [rebloggable version](https://a-splash-of-stucky.tumblr.com/post/175417574245/lets-dance-like-were-makin-love/)
> 
> Come say hi to me on Tumblr!


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